To See Me
by Orchid Falls
Summary: After everything Oz was unusually quiet and saddened. The only problem was that Elliot was the only one left around to comfort him.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own it and all that jazz.

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**To See Me**

The Nightray orphanage walls seemed oppressive, the thick rain that pounded the walls and slid down the windows to pool in its cracks, sapping what little spirit the two occupants in the room still possessed.

At a loss, Elliot allowed himself to slide a little further down the wall he was leaning against, his legs creaking as his wet trousers curled against his skin uncomfortably, surreptitiously watching the quiet play of shadows that flickered back and forth across Oz Vessalius; hiding any possible emotion that peeked through the stony, flat glaze of his face.

The atmosphere was beginning to get depressing; the slow waiting for Oz to make some sort of sound or acknowledgment of his surroundings, unbearable, and Elliot was now actually feeling sorry for him as well.

As if he actually did give a damn, well maybe just a little.

He opened his mouth to say something, maybe even something slightly encouraging in the oppressive gloom that seemed to stick to Oz like glue, and then decided against it, his teeth snapping down and echoing loudly in the cool silence that surrounded them.

In the hurried confusion of returning to the dry safety of the orphanage, having ensured his charge was safely inside and resting, Leo had walked off to retrieve the both of them some dry clothes and means of transportation, leaving Elliot alone; unwilling to follow due to his still ticking thoughts and simmering temper over how Reo had interfered with his telling off, necessary as it had been, of Zai Vessalius. A habit that seemed to be becoming more common each passing day as the pair seemed unable to avoid the seemingly swelling Vessalius family. And _maybe_ with Oz, Reo had had a point, but Zai had just been an utter bastard to his own child, his own son, and what in the hell was_ his_ Father even thinking sending over one of _them _to collect him to begin with?

Oz shuffled softly in his seat, dribbles of water leaking down the chair legs he was sat on. The damp cloak covering his shoulders doing nothing helpful as it clung to him all heavy and wet and desperate looking. Elliot thought about telling him to take it off. That would be the right thing to do, _if_ he could get through to him, something Gilbert would probably be able to do in a heartbeat.

Once through the doors, Gilbert had sulked off, still in the strange dazed mood that had never quite left him since they had split up, ignoring even his Master's quiet trembling as Oz had silently walked by his side, lost to the world.

The rest Elliot didn't particularly care about, but he'd seen the crazy Mad Hatter loon stalk off after his brother, and the girl wander off with one of the nuns after the old lady had caught sight of her sopping wet, shivering state; her hair tangled in clumps and dripping a small trail of rainwater behind them like a path of wet breadcrumbs. There were three now, leading off in separate directions, but both Oz and Elliot had chosen not to follow, remaining locked where they stood.

Oz now seemed immersed in his own sense of doom and gloom, and the silence between them was beginning to get just a little bit awkward, or as Elliot saw it, dragging on long enough for it to start thoroughly irritating him.

He coughed and moved further down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, a few spaces still from Oz; instantly regretting the movement as soon as the chill of his wet clothes gathering around his body in new places took hold. Gritting his teeth, he resisted the urge to grimace, ignoring it and putting on his most platonic face in an effort to look more approachable.

Oz was making small puffing noises with his mouth, his teeth lightly chattering together in small clicks. If Elliot looked, he could see the tiny twitches that shook through his arms and his legs and his chest, small tremors that showed no immediate sign of stopping. Whether due to the cold, the inconsiderate treatment by his Father, or some combination of everything involved.

"Take off your cloak," Elliot's voice was rougher than he intended, a loud echo that took up the small space of the room they were waiting in. He winced, moving the disapproval lines that his lips naturally formed into and hoping that he came across at least a little bit more soothing, or at least not as immediately aggressive.

Oz's head moved up and his fingers unlaced from each other; so he was clearly still capable of participating in the living, but despite the momentary glimpse of life, Oz still didn't move to take off his cloak.

"You're making wet marks on the floor." His eyes moved to watch the small gathering of water that had already pooled in the carpet, the splatters (the light too dark to tell if they were mixed with mud and making more of a mess), that ran down the cream painted walls behind them.

Oz straightened, seemingly only half aware that he was actually soaking. He moved to shrug out of his cloak, his arms slow and heavy as he struggled through the cold racking him, his stiffened fingers making no impression on getting the item off. Elliot huffed, frustration slipping out of his mouth before he could even think to hold it back.

Oz turned to look at Elliot and blinked back at him quietly, as if he was unaware up to this point that Elliot had even been stood there. His hair was plastered to his forehead in the opposite direction it was usually brushed towards, his clothes screwed up; a slap hazard mess of the usual well-groomed noble he maintained to be.

Elliot stood up to help him and took a hold of one of his sleeves, pulling.

"Thank you," Oz's voice was barely above a whisper, sounding scratchy like the blond had trouble commanding it to work.

Flustered at who he was helping and actually worrying about, Elliot spoke without thinking:

"A _Vessalius_ shouldn't even be in this place, let alone dripping all over it." The name came out partially spat as was his habit, the words tasting bitter as they left his mouth, harsh even to his own ears. Reo was right, Reo was _always_ right. He should think before saying things, and this was Elliot trying to be comforting and polite.

His fingers tightened on one of Oz's wrists and he pulled at the hulk of material until it was half off. A sharp tug, shrug and wide arc of Oz's free arm and the cloak was left to fall to the floor in a wet, sodden heap. Oz was trembling slightly still, but he ignored his body's shivering to quickly bend over and retrieve the cloak, his fingers beginning to fold it up before Elliot moved to stop him.

"Leave it," he sighed. "I was just-" He glanced at the wall, the wet streaks his own movement had left across the orphanage's painted wall. It was water; it wasn't as if it wouldn't dry given the time, and it didn't matter in the long run. It could easily be fixed even if there was any long lasting damage. "It doesn't matter, I didn't mean-" He stuttered and watched as Oz moved his hand up and down his arms in an attempt to bring some warmth back to his chilled skin. Goosebumps appearing and rippling across the exposed skin of his wrists, neck and shoulders, but at least now Oz was back with him again, outside the dangers of his own thoughts and feelings; something that wouldn't be quite as easy to fix as a simple wall with a fresh lick of paint. "You look like a drowned rat."

A small smile floated across Oz's mouth, the corners of his lips tucking up softly, just enough to make Elliot feel like he wasn't making that big of a mess of the situation after all. "You don't look so good yourself," Oz returned, light, barely susceptible humour laced through his words.

Self consciously, Elliot's hand moved to his hair, watching as Oz's eyes followed his movement, tracking the swift strokes as his fingers tried to piece back his hair into some form of normality.

There was a slightly different look to Oz now, a warmth to his eyes, to the small fleeting smile that hovered on his lips.

"It's useless, isn't it?" Oz nodded and Elliot gave up, feeling the beginning tinges of embarrassment hit him full force. This wasn't usually the way he behaved around people he didn't know, especially not the kind of people that had the last name of Vessalius.

Oz seemed to catch the slight shift in mood, sensing Elliot's hesitation and sudden change of face. He took a small step back, the strange blank look returning to his eyes as his smile disappeared.

Elliot felt his fists tighten, the nails of his skin catching at his palm, the anger that simmered at the bottom of his chest seizing up his throat. He was being stupid; if Leo had been there his head would already be ringing.

"You should sit down before you catch a cold." Oz was still shivering despite the fleeting normality and from the look of him he shouldn't, and wouldn't be standing for much longer.

Silently, Oz started to obey; the obvious weight of everything that had happened beginning to take its toll.

"Not there," Elliot's hand moved out to push Oz away from the already wet area, his pale face reflecting back at him shocked for a second before he moved further along the corridor to a dryer piece of carpet. Elliot followed him, sitting down arm to arm next to each other, hissing as his own still wet clothes shifted again as he knelt. Once this was all over, he would really have to talk about moving chairs out there and setting up a more accommodating waiting area. Maybe a small lit fire that could be maintained throughout the cold evenings, the kind like tonight where the sky blackened and brought with it the cool smog that seemed to freeze the very air.

Elliot shivered; the familiar pounding ache had begun to let itself be known in his head.

He started to lean his head back against the wall and close his eyes when Oz spoke up, "You don't like me." His skull cracked back hard against the plaster, the sound of Oz's hair and clothes swishing against the wall as he turned to look at him, wincing.

"Your head!" Oz's hand flew out and Elliot's own deflected it from reaching out to touch him.

"It's fine," aching now but nothing he couldn't handle, and worse now was the thick taint of guilt he could taste on his tongue. There hadn't even been any sadness or hesitation laced through Oz's words, just a pure, lonely statement.

Through the dim light Elliot could see that the hollow glaze was creeping back into place and he didn't want to spend however long it took Leo, Gilbert or one of the others, to get back, passing time in complete silence with someone in utter misery (no matter how much he would never admit to it), sitting right next to him.

He sniffed, "I don't even know you."

Oz nodded, his fingers pressing down on the material of his shorts, a damp squishing noise replacing the silence.

"I think you've changed since the last time we met." The words were careful, as much as Elliot could be, because the past Oz Vessalius he had grabbed by fistfuls of clothes, shaken and then screamed at, threatened to be a reminder from his mouth any second.

Oz frowned up at him, a mixture of confusion and despair crossing his face.

Elliot wanted to say something helpful like, don't become that again; because he could see how close the Oz of the past, the one that had shut himself off from others, was.

"It's a slight improvement, but you're still a short brat," he snapped quickly.

Regret, that ever familiar emotion, quickly flooding through his gut.

There was no reaction for a few seconds and then a strange huffing sound. A moment where Elliot inwardly panicked that he might have broken Oz's last shred of sanity and made him actually cry; a thankfully unnecessary worry as one look to his left revealed Oz to be quietly laughing. The sound light enough that even Elliot found himself smiling into the back of his hand.

Slowly, the laughter subsided and Eliot waited for Oz to say whatever it was that he clearly still had occupying his mind, shifting his feet and feeling the water that still lingered inside his boots, dampening his socks, his feet, even seemingly to the core of his bones.

"My Father-"

Ah, so Oz was choosing to open up to him concerning this topic. Elliot didn't even give him the chance to continue:

"Clearly isn't worthy of that title after what I witnessed today."

Oz blinked and slowly moved his mouth wordlessly, as if he was struggling with the fact Elliot was sticking up for him.

Having said what was needed, and pretty positive that Reo wouldn't have disapproved, Elliot nodded his affirmation; the grit of his teeth pressing down firmly at the memory of what he had seen.

His own Father had his faults, excuses and letters of apologies at important occasions; little time to spend with his heir as he took care of the estate and situations that arose concerning the Nightray house and other duke households, but never in that time had his own Father denounced the very existence of him, professed that he wasn't of his own blood.

Oz had been missing for ten years and Zai Vessalius had briskly walked past him as if he didn't want him to exist, let alone welcome him home with open arms and comfort him like a Father should.

Oz moved and Elliot glanced aside to see the open look of hurt that crossed his features, the pure dismay and general sense of hopelessness that seemed to surround him. This wasn't something that Elliot could shake out of him; make disappear as he wrapped his fingers up in the thick fabric of Oz's shirt. No amount of his screaming would convince Oz to feel better about himself; not this time.

Elliot glanced up, frantically searching for Leo or Gilbert, or hell, any passing person that might be wandering the halls; they were all far better equipped than he was at trying to comfort people.

Oz's shoulders were shaking, barely visible, but enough for him to notice, and Elliot didn't think that this time had anything to do with the cold. His hands clenched tightly and he could feel the sharp prick of his nails, where was Leo? He would know what to do, what to say; the way that even silently he was able to comfort Elliot after one of his particularly bad nightmares, wrapping his arms around Elliot's shoulders as he shook with fear and that awful leftover feeling that always remained of sticky blood still tainting his fingers.

He wasn't hugging Oz Vessalius.

Leaning forward, Elliot sighed. Oz wasn't crying, thank God, but his face was strangely crumpled and his mouth was all twisted up like he might sneeze any second.

There was still no sign of any other human being in the vicinity and at this point Elliot was beginning to feel sorry for himself too.

Oz took a deep breath and Elliot could hear the slight quaver and thrum in his throat.

"Oh for-" A strangled noise left his throat, "here!" Oz flinched slightly as Elliot's hand came up fast and aimed towards him; his fingers still clenched as if he might be preparing to knock some sense into the younger-older boy.

Surprisingly, the fingers straightened, landing flat and even curling slightly atop Oz's cold shoulder.

"You're worth a lot more than that idiot excuse for a man thinks." Oz's hand stopped fiddling with the material of his shorts and his breathing hushed altogether.

Awkwardly, Elliot moved his hand in small circular motions, a method his own Mother always used when he was feeling sick, sad or frightened.

"Even considering you are a Vessalius," Elliot paused, a slightly less than friendly smile playing on his face, "and quite a bit tapped in the head." The smile blossomed fully and Oz turned to return it with a smaller version of his own.

He was still pale, a combination of the cold and everything that had happened, but now there was at least genuine warmth to his eyes that hadn't been there before. Some amount of emotion behind them that wasn't that scary blank, devoid of everything look.

The silence stretched for a few minutes, yet this time it didn't feel awkward or forced.

"Thank you," Oz's voice was back to sounding more like its original self, "I think." Elliot nodded, his hand remaining in place, passing what little warmth he had through to him. "You're not as bad as you make out to be either, for a Nightray."

Elliot stuttered, his lips thinning, even if he didn't feel the anger he should by right passing through him.

Oz was back to looking out at the distance, but Elliot could swear he heard the familiar faint teasing tone lacing through his words. He would let that one slide, he figured, there was at least no one else around to hear it.

"Master Vessalius, Xerxes Break is looking for you," Leo's straight voice broke through the companionable silence, his arms heavily loaded with fresh clothes and towels; one of his eyebrows raised slightly in question at the strange and unexpected sight of Elliot's hand resting on Oz's shoulder.

Elliot felt sure that he wasn't just imagining the slight twitch to his lips either.

"We're leaving?"

Leo nodded, clearly still distracted but willing to wait for an explanation that would no doubt come later. "Our transportation to Pandora headquarters has already been arranged. It's waiting outside." He lifted up his arms and moved to separate the towels from the dry clothes. "We've also been given these; you should get changed out of those wet ones." His hands picked up the pieces meant for Elliot," If you'll excuse us, Oz."

Oz nodded and Elliot rose from the ground, his hand giving one final light squeeze of Oz's shoulder.

Leo's lips took on a small smile and Elliot found himself snatching the clothes quickly out of the tight grasp of his fingers. Hopefully he could cause a little bit of pain along the way. He shuffled through the belongings, relishing the feeling of cotton and warm, thick wool beneath his hands. Finding what he wanted, the night cloak that would serve him well throughout his night travels; he picked it out and walked back towards Oz.

"Here," His hand struck out, the cloak fisted tightly in his right hand, the buttons digging into the flesh of his fingers. "You need this more than me right now."

"Elliot," Leo's proud tone still managed to irritate the hell out of him.

Elliot coughed, "Being so short and all."

"Elliot!"

A grimace, "Fine, it's mine, but you can have it."He glanced back out to Leo to find that stupid smile still fixed in place. His voice grew lower, "It'll keep you warm at least." He could feel his teeth clenching hard at the back of his mouth.

"Thank you," Oz's smile was almost back to normal, gratefully taking the cloak out of Elliot's hands and throwing it across as much of his body as he could. "For everything." There were teeth in the smile and Eliot could only count that as a good thing, or bad, considering who it was he was making smile. Suddenly he found his throat particularly clogged up.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Oz, but Eliot and I really need to be going." A pause and then, "Elliot, your Father is waiting."

Elliot wasn't really sure what to think about that, not after Duke Nightray had sent the head Vessalius over here to collect him like some kind of wandering aimless child. "Right," that was a whole new problem; he turned from Oz and began to walk away, listening to the quieter echoes of Leo telling the blond where to find the crazy mad hatter.

"Leo!" Used to his ever impatient master, Leo bowed and quickly said his goodbyes.

"Bye, Elliot! I'll return the cloak to you the next time I see you."

Oz's shout was loud and back to being bright and irritatingly happy, Elliot could feel his shoulders rising and hunching in annoyance.

The light patter of footsteps behind him let him know that Leo was finished and hurrying now to catch up. The steps slowing until he was just a step behind and matching Elliot's pace. He could practically feel the smug grin that was dying to stretch across Leo's face.

"Stop it, now!"

Leo shrugged, stepping into line with Elliot; the smile there and in place and incredibly infuriating. "I was just thinking that Elliot is such a nice-"

It would be worth the pain afterwards.

"Shut up_... _Ow_!_"

**End.**

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Comments and crit are appreciated.


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